


Do It

by JulieArchery107



Category: Sherlock (BBC)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, guilty mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 16:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulieArchery107/pseuds/JulieArchery107
Summary: What if Mycroft was serious about making himself pay, during the events of "TFP"?





	Do It

"Do it"

 

Sherlock didn't even think.

His body moved without the consent of his brain, immediately pointing the gun at the older brother.

He snapped his eyes up, shocked by his own actions.

Mycroft, for his part, didn't look surprised.

His own ice-blue eyes were filled with something that tightened the knot around the detective's neck.

Acceptance.

"Holmes kills Holmes..." Jim Moriarty's voice echoed, it's tone cheerful and upbeat.

The younger man sneered at the recording of his archenemy.

He opened his mouth to protest, to say that he would never... But Mycroft hushed him with just two words.

"Do it."

The detective's eyes snapped back to the red-haired man he called "brother".

"...What?" He asked, lowering the gun from where it was pointing at the fox-haired man.

But Mycroft was already moving, stepping up to him in record time and pressing the barrel of the gun firmly against his own heart, a warm hand covering Sherlock's.

The detective was so shocked he could only stare at his older sibling in horror.

"It's what we've both been waiting for, isn't it?" The rumble of his voice vibrated against the gun, as he talked. "So go on." He tightened his grip on Sherlock's trigger finger, willing the younger to press it. "Pull the trigger, Sherlock."

The detective stood there, frozen, looking like a scared deer in the headlights.

He couldn't believe this was happening...

'Why am I not afraid?' That question was being pushed to forefront of his mind by the Mycroft that lived in his Mind Palace, demanding he paid attention, but for once, the detective couldn't focus.

This was all happening too fast...

"Sherlock don't do it!" John. John was still there... They forgot about Watson. "Damn it! Let go of that gun, the both of you!"

But all the younger Holmes could focus on was the steady rhythm of Mycroft's heart, as it gently pushed the gun back and forth with the force of it's beats.

This pulled him back to a time long past, when as a little boy he would sneak into his older brother's room when awoken by a nightmare. Seeking comfort in this strong, steady sound that never faltered, no matter the weather outside, and chased all the monsters away.

Just like all those years ago, it was calm.

Beating the same slow and steady rhythm, it always did.

'Why am I not afraid?'

There it is again, that infuriating question Sherlock didn't want to know the answer to.

But the detective was forced to listen to it now.

'Why is he not afraid, indeed...'

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second, though it felt like hours, and allowed himself to be engulfed by his Mind Palace.

He began to think, to analyze, to remember.

Even when faced with the possibility of death, of fratricide, Mycroft's heartbeat didn't speed up.

Normally that would scream of the person's unique ability to control his body, something that takes years of discipline and practice to achieve...

'You know that is not the correct answer, Sherlock.' Inner-Mycroft scolded gently, cutting him off and forcing the younger Holmes to think in a different way. 'Focus, brother-dear.'

The detective took a calming breath and gathered his bearings.

'Why is Mycroft not afraid?'

Situations like this must have happened before. His job is dangerous and plenty of people want him dead, that must be a logical explanation-

'Logical, yes.' Inner-Mycroft commented. 'But not correct.'

'Then what is the correct one?!' Sherlock was losing his patience, his panic finally getting the better of him. 'You cannot play mind games with me during such a dire situation!'

'Oh but, Sherlock...' The brother inside his head hummed, twirling his ever present umbrella. 'Have you not noticed that you are the only one who perceives this as a dire situation?'

'...What?'

'Always so slow little brother, really. It's a wonder you solve any cases at all...'

'S-Stop it!' The detective's head began to spin. 'Stop acting like your life isn't on the line here!'

'Ah, but why wouldn't I act this way, Sherlock?' Inner-Mycroft smiled sadly. 'In order for you to answer the previous question, you must first ask yourself this one: Who's fault is all this?'

And just like that... everything clicked.

Mycroft's actions during this whole debacle, his calmness during this very moment...his own hand pressing the barrel of the gun to his chest.

It all screamed to Sherlock. His older brother was willing to die, to be punished for what he did.

Mycroft was so ready to give his life… that his body doesn't even cry out in panic when a gun is being pointed in his direction.

"Why?" Was all that managed to get through the detective's tight throat.

He needed to hear it from the man's own lips.

Mycroft smiled sadly and gently patted his brother's hand.

"Why not?" Such a simple question, yet it carried more guilt than it had any right to.

"What was it you said a while back, doctor Watson?" Mycroft didn't even look away to address the good man properly. "What goes around, comes around?"

John didn't answer, only swallowed thickly, eyes stuck at the gun against the older man's chest.

"I caused this. All this needless pain and suffering… it wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for me and my kindness." He then looked deep into Sherlock's eyes. "Since this is all my fault… I might as well give her what she wants, don't you think?"

No.

Sherlock's heart screamed.

No. He squeezed his elder brother's hand tightly, hoping to get the message across. You're not allowed to take all the blame.

But Mycroft simply shook his head.

"It's really quite fitting... My blood splattered against the prison wall, in return for years of isolation..." He tightened his grip on the gun, ensuring that his younger brother cannot pull it away. "Make sure I pay her back in full, okay... brother-dear?"

Sherlock's hand was shaking.

"N-No." He managed to duke out. "I won't-"

"No one will blame you, Sherlock." Mycroft cut him off again, voice quiet and completely resigned to his fate. "As a member of the law enforcement, you are obligated to punish the guilty." He sighed, the weight of the pain he caused, crushing his conscious under it's enormous weight. "So close your eyes and do your job, detective."

'He's really asking this of me...'

At the moment Sherlock saw nothing but a stranger in his brother's body.

'He's demanding that I… that I kill him.'

He shook his head, tears making their way down his cheeks.

'Why me?! I… I can't do this!' The detective looked at his older brother in desperation. 'I can't kill my own brother!'

Mycroft's eyes were hard, bearing no room for argument.

'It has to be you, Sherlock.' The voice in the younger man's head, answered solemnly.

'Tell me why!'

'Because I want the person I cared most about, standing behind that gun.' The voice grew quieter, as if coming from farther away.

'So I can look him in the eyes and say'

"I'm sorry."

The real Mycroft said, in perfect sync with the one in the detective's head.

Sherlock shook his head again.

"I can't do this..."

"Sure you can." Those words repeated every time he couldn't do something right as a child, made the detective flinch. "Just close your eyes..." Mycroft let go of the curly haired man's hand and placed it over his eyes, blocking his vision.

"And slay the dragon."


End file.
